


Hurt Me, Heal Me

by mandatorily



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Cutting, Dominance, Light BDSM, M/M, Spanking, Triggers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2010-01-25
Updated: 2010-01-25
Packaged: 2017-11-03 11:23:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/380858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mandatorily/pseuds/mandatorily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean's time in Hell left him with needs he's yet to fill.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hurt Me, Heal Me

“So, Sammy,” Dean says, clearing his throat nervously. They’re half a mile outside Houston and for once Dean’s relinquished the wheel to Sam. The weather’s crisp, clear, a perfect fall day in East Texas, but neither of them is paying much attention to the scenery. After so many years on the road, you finally just stop noticing anything. “How adventurous are you in the bedroom?”

Sam doesn’t take his eyes off the road, just grins and says, “I’ve been fucking my brother for the last six months, Dean. Can you get more adventurous in the bedroom than that?”

Dean shrugs, looking out the passenger side window. “There are OTHER things we could be doing. We keep things kinda vanilla.”

Sam laughs, head thrown back so far it hits the seat. “Vanilla, Dean, really?” Tapping his fingers against the steering wheel, he ticks off every kinky detail of their sex life, “We’re fucking our own BROTHER. You have gay incest, gay butt sex, gay blowjobs, gay frottage, gay hand jobs . . . and oh yeah, did I mention the gay, gay INCEST? Vanilla? I don’t think you can use that word to describe either one of us anymore.”

“Shut up, I’m not gay.”

“Oh, Dean. That might have worked the first time you let me suck you off, but I’m thinking you’re protesting a little too much, too late, now.”

“Whatever. Blow me.”

“I’m driving or I would.”

“Anyfuckingway. God, having a conversation with you is like pissing in the fucking wind.” He slams a hand into the dashboard before continuing, “I want. Something different and you’re supposed to be interested in satisfying my needs.” His voice is full of that smug I’m-the-older-brother-and-you’ll-do-what-I-want arrogance that always sets Sam’s teeth on edge.

“Have you been reading Cosmo again?”

“Go to Hell.”

“You’ve been there, done that. One Winchester’s enough, right?” Sam licks his lips, fighting a smile, trying so hard not to laugh at how surly Dean’s gotten so fast.

“Could you fucking take this seriously for ONE MINUTE?”

Glancing out the corner of his eye, Sam can see that whatever’s on Dean’s mind actually IS serious. Dean’s fidgeting in his seat, looking about ready to fling himself out the window.

Sam reaches over and laces their fingers together. Dean tries jerking his hand away, as usual, but Sam tightens his fingers, both of their bones cracking at the pressure. After several minutes of push and pull, Dean finally relents, gripping Sam’s hand in return.

“Go ahead, Dean. I’ll stop making jokes.”

Dean looks at their joined hands, biting his lip. Keeping his attention focused on the road, Sam tries to give Dean the privacy he so obviously needs. “I want to be spanked,” Dean says, quiet as a whisper, voice hitching on the last word like he can’t even believe he’s said it out loud.

As understanding as Sam’s trying to be, that’s about the last thing he was expecting to hear, so he can’t help himself from blurting out, “What the fuck? I mean. You. What?”

Dean tries pulling his hand away again, but Sam just grips it tighter and when he notices a rest stop alongside the road, pulls the Impala in under a stand of fall-colored trees. The place is deserted, no signs of use in the last century, so he kills the ignition, turns toward Dean and waits for the rest of the story.

Dean’s staring out the window, late-afternoon sun framing his face in gold and Sam’s struck for maybe the millionth time since they started this thing between them by the sheer beauty of his brother’s profile. The muscles in Dean’s jaw are working overtime, so Sam scoots closer, cupping his hand against Dean’s cheek, rubbing a thumb along the smooth bone under his eye. Dean leans into the touch, but still won’t say anything else.

Sam clears his own throat and tries something that usually works. He offers up his own emotional soul as a way to get Dean to open up about his. “After Ruby,” he begins and Dean jerks away from him like Sam’s slapped him. They barely ever talk about that time anymore, not after the last time when Dean admitted to the searing jealousy that tears him up inside at the mention of the demon’s name. But, Sam’s never been a coward and soldiers on anyway, “After Ruby, and starting the apocalypse and everything. I needed pain. To feel alive. To feel anything. Those scars you’ve seen on the insides of my thighs? They’re not from any accident or hunt or anything. I did that. Cutting myself with razors, knives, whatever I had handy. Just to feel anything. Just to feel.”

Dean looks at him then, green eyes squinted, not exactly in confusion, but more in understanding. He nods, licks his lips, “After Hell. After starting this damn thing. Need something. Thought this might be the answer.”

Sam leans in, presses a quick kiss to Dean’s forehead. “I’ll try. We’ll try it.”


End file.
